


A Night You Won't Remember, the One You Won't Forget

by Xenobotanist



Series: Garashir by Night [7]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Getting Together, Hangover, Humor, I love writing peeved Worf, M/M, and then there was fluff, drunk decisions, the morning after
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:55:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26132275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xenobotanist/pseuds/Xenobotanist
Summary: Julian and Garak (and then Worf and Jadzia) are left dealing with the aftermath of what must have been a very interesting evening together. If only they could remember what happened.
Relationships: Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Series: Garashir by Night [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1848898
Comments: 18
Kudos: 71





	A Night You Won't Remember, the One You Won't Forget

_It's going down, I'm yelling timber_

_You better move, you better dance_

_Let's make a night, you won't remember_

_I'll be the one, you won't forget_

_\- Pitbull & Ke$ha, Timber _

Julian struggled into awareness. He felt like his head was being squashed between two bricks while simultaneously getting stuffed with wool. His stomach was threatening to revolt, or to release a tsunami. And he felt like he was draped over a low boulder.

“Doctor?”

The voice next to his head made his ears ring.

“Doctor, are you awake?”

“Ugghhh.” The pillow under his head shifted. Pillow? That meant he wasn’t lying on a stone slab. It was… “Garak?”

Julian’s eyes snapped open.

He was staring at thick, gray scales with dark markings. Neck scales.

He froze, trying to remember how he’d ended up with a terrible hangover and… lying on top of his Cardassian lunch companion.

“Um, Garak, please try not to take this the wrong way, but… what happened last night?” He remained still, momentarily afraid to look his friend in the eyes.

“I wish I remembered, Doctor. Although judging by the state of our undress, I have a few ideas.”

Julian gulped. He could feel a rough blanket over his back, carpet under his hands, and a multitude of bumps and ridges pressed into his chest. No clothes. Drawing a deep breath, he rose to his elbows and looked down at the man under him.

Garak’s eyes and mouth were open wide, and he looked absolutely stunned for a moment. Blinking a few times, he seemed to gather himself. “Ah, Julian dear, perhaps you could… _withdraw_ … while we come back to ourselves?”

The first thing that occurred to him was that Garak had used his first name. The second was…

Julian felt his jaw drop. He wasn’t just on top of Garak. He was _inside_ him. His cock was soft, as if he’d fallen asleep during the act, but he could feel a rapid resurgence coming on, and hurriedly pulled out.

Garak grunted faintly, but was already surveying their surroundings. “These are not your quarters.”

Julian turned to look. Indeed. They were on the floor between a sofa and a coffee table. “These aren’t _your_ quarters, either,” he realized. The display halfway across the room was familiar. “These are... Jadzia and Worf’s quarters.”

They struggled apart and sat up with their backs to the couch, both gripping awkwardly at the blanket and scanning shadows warily. The room appeared empty. And silent. No sign of Trill or Klingon.

Julian squinted at the chrono. 0500 hours. “We need to get out of here. I don’t know what time Jadzia _or_ Worf wake up, but I don’t want to be here when they do.”

“Julian?” Garak asked quietly. “Do you see our clothing anywhere?”

He got up, hunched over (as if it would make a difference) and hunted around, trying to ignore the lurching in his stomach every time he turned. But there were no shirts, trousers, or undergarments to be found. He joined the searching Cardassian on the other side of the room. “Garak, what are we going to do?” he whispered furiously.

“I have to say quite honestly, Doctor, that I have never found myself in a situation such as this before. But I believe we should depart with haste.”

“Alright then.” Julian retrieved the blanket and scooted up next to Garak, throwing it over their backs. They shuffled awkwardly toward the door.

The lights came on.

“Halt, intruders!” Worf’s voice boomed over them, and Julian nearly collapsed to his knees as the command rumbled around inside his abused skull. Garak grabbed him around the waist for support.

Worf glared at the naked men cowering in a blanket next to his medals and mek’leth.

They stared back.

“JADZIA!” The Klingon thundered. He stalked out of the room.

A tousled head popped out of the bedroom, followed by a body barely covered in a silky purple robe. The sleepy expression on her face was quickly replaced by one of amazement and then mirth. “ _Good_ morning, boys. What brings you here for a visit so early?” She strolled into the living room.

“Send them home!” shouted Worf from the other room.

“Lieutenant Dax, if you wouldn’t mind--” Garak started, just as Julian said, “Actually, I think we were here all--” They broke off and looked at each other.

“You know,” Jadzia smirked. “That blanket isn’t doing a whole lot for either of you, especially in front.”

Julian and Garak subconsciously moved closer together, pulling the edges of the blanket around them like a cocoon.

“That’s MY blanket!” Worf yelled.

“Let me see if I can find you something,” Jadzia cackled, and returned to her bedroom, where a low but fierce argument began. 

As Julian and Garak avoided each other’s eyes, the voices in the other room grew louder. The debate ended with Jadzia declaring, “Look, Garak won’t fit into _my_ clothes.” She emerged a moment later, carrying her and Worf’s sparring uniforms.

“I don’t know how you got in here last night, or why you’re naked, but I want the full story as soon as possible,” the Trill demanded, handing over the garments. “You _have_ to tell me--” She stared at the tan hand that had darted out of the blanket to nab her offering. “Julian… When did you start wearing a ring?”

The human flipped his hand around to stare at the fingers as if they’d developed Gorn pox. A bright gold band glimmered back at him.

“Say… would Garak happen to be wearing a ring, too?” inquired Jadzia playfully. 

Julian felt the scratchy material draped around him twitch as Garak jerked it tighter around himself. “Seeing as I’m currently not wearing any articles of clothing, I don’t see why I would have gained, much less _retained_ any jewelry,” the other man said stiffly. 

“Well, I don’t know what Cardassians do to show that they’re married, but _Humans_ wear wedding rings,” Jadzia informed him. “Just. Like. This one.” She grabbed and raised Julian’s hand. “And I know for a fact that he wasn’t wearing one of these _yesterday._ ”

Julian yanked his hand back. He couldn’t believe it. He was standing completely starkers, in Worf’s living room, wearing a ring, and wrapped up in a blanket with _Garak_. Who was resolutely hiding all of his fingers. Julian had a feeling if it were anyone else, Dax would have already tackled the Cardassian and dragged the truth out. Or at least a hand. He was almost certain he could see her weighing the possibility behind her eyes.

Despite the pounding in his temples and sloshing in his stomach, some whisper of sense made it through. Julian grabbed the pile of clothes that everyone had forgotten about. “ _Thank you_ , Jadzia. We’ll, ah, put these on and make our way back to our quarters. And… I’ll talk to you _at lunch_ , alright?” He had to let go of the blanket to divide up the clothing between them, but it wasn’t as if everyone hadn’t seen everything already anyway. Jadzia didn’t leave the room, but she did turn around as they hastily pulled on the garments. Julian stole several surreptitious glances in Garak’s direction, but he never caught a solid glimpse of either hand. Finally, he tapped his Trill friend on the shoulder. “Here’s the blanket back. You might want to wash it.” 

“No doubt.” Jadzia’s lips curled up as she dangled it daintily from her fingertips.

Garak sketched a small bow. “Thank you for your hospitality, Lieutenant. I will make sure these clothes are cleaned, pressed, and returned to you at our earliest possible convenience.” 

She waved her hand magnanimously. “Oh, don’t worry about it. These are just backups. Although…” She rolled her eyes to the ceiling. “If certain tailors didn’t want certain _rumors_ being spread about them, maybe they’d be willing to make a new set?”

When Garak narrowed his own eyes, Julian jumped in. “That sounds just _lovely._ C’mon, Garak, let’s give Dax and Worf some peace and quiet this morning. I’m certain they’d like to have a nice breakfast before getting to work. _Goodbye_ , Jadzia.”

She smirked and waggled her fingers as he dragged the Cardassian from the room. 

As soon as the door hissed shut, he spun around. “Okay, Garak. Show me your hands.” The tailor immediately held both up, palms out. They were bare. Julian frowned.

“Were you looking for something in particular, Doctor?”

“You know what I was looking for. I thought that if I was wearing a ring, then _you…”_ he trailed off. 

“Oh, you mean this?” And Garak pulled a gold band out of a tiny pocket in the trousers. “I couldn’t have dear Dax begin spreading rumors just quite yet.” He hesitated. “Especially without knowing your particular feelings on the matter.”

Julian crashed into him, grabbing both cheeks between his hands before kissing the man like his life depended on it. He spoke in between pecks on lips, jaw, and ear. “I might” kiss “have wanted” nibble “to have a proper” lick “date or two first, but” kiss kiss “now that it’s done…” He paused to bring their lips back together, and Garak met him equally, allowing his tongue entrance before fencing it with his own. Julian pulled back a moment to look him in the eye. “I don’t see any reason to undo it.”

With a gasp of pleasure, Garak wrapped his arms around the doctor’s waist, swinging him around until his back hit the wall. He bit down on the long, smooth neck before sucking hard enough to leave a mark while Julian ran his hands up and down the scales pressing through the fabric over his back. Garak worked his way back up, wholeheartedly locking their mouths once again. Julian moaned, one of his legs creeping up to wrap around the Cardassian’s legs.

They were interrupted by another whoosh of the door. Worf stepped out, took one look at them, growled, turned right back around and went back in.

Julian buried his face in Garak’s shoulder, laughing. His headache was miraculously gone. He felt a hand fondly card through his hair, and an overwhelming surge of tenderness welled up in his chest. Lifting his head, he met Garak’s eyes. “We have _so much_ to talk about.”

The tailor smiled softly. “Don’t we always, Doctor?”

He was right. It was as if each day was simply a continuation of one long discourse, rather than dozens of small ones. Like they’d started a conversation years ago, but never ended. And now it was looking like it never would.

**Author's Note:**

> Klingons have hidden pockets in all of their garments to hide weapons. As a tailor, Garak knows this.  
> If you would like to try something longer, check out my other stories! https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xenobotanist/works


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